


All Lilith's Children

by rabitty



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Assassination, Banshee Powers, Bodyguard Derek Hale, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Breeding, Copious Amounts of Cum, Coup d'état, Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, F/M, Feral Behavior, In which Canada is kinda badass??, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Minor Character Death, Mpreg, Prince Stiles, Prince Stuart, Princess Lydia, Puppy Scott McCall, Revolution, Rimming, Rough Sex, Rutting, Slave Derek, Slave Scott, Slavery, Superpowers, Top Derek, Vampire Stiles Stilinski, Vampires, War, Werewolf Derek, Werewolf Mates, Werewolf Politics, obviously, sort of, werewolf slavery, werewolf terrorists, you'll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-13 06:17:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4511025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabitty/pseuds/rabitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vampire society is controlled by the four ruling families: Stilinski of the Ferrum Bloodline, Reyes of the Aureius Bloodline, Whittemore of the Chalceus Bloodline and Argent of the Argentum Bloodline. Stiles, one of three heirs of House Stilinski, is given a werewolf guardian slave by the name of Derek and his world is changed forever. As humans and vampires come into conflict and werewolves rise up against their blood drinking masters, will Derek stand by Stiles or will he cut and run like his wolf brothers and sisters?<br/>((PREVIOUSLY 'With Mouth So Sweet, So Poisonous': EDITED REPOST))</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Lilith, We Trust

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, this is a repost of a fic previously called 'With Mouth So Sweet, So Poisonous'. I took it down a short while ago to edit and restructure it because I was just not feeling it. If you had already read the first couple chapters of this fic before it got taken down, not much was changed so you probably don't have to reread the first chapter, I just went through and caught a few grammatical errors, but do read all the other chapters, I added some new stuff. Also, I've clumped a few chapters together when I felt the content matched another segment. Anyway, I feel much better about this fic this time around since I actually have a clear idea of where I want it to go, so, enjoy.  
> MTV owns everything.  
> Warning, aspects of noncon towards the middle of this chapter.

_ Stiles _

You would think that being the most powerful family in one of the most affluent nations in the world would entitle the Stilinski family to its own airstrip or at the very least a personal jet waiting on hand for emergency flights. But no. Stiles had to fly Delta to Sedis like every other shmuck. Second class no less.

In between grappling with a Russian tourist for elbow room and trying to tell the stewardess that no, he _really_ didn't want the complimentary peanuts he bemoaned his lot in life. Sure, he may be Second Progenitor of a distinguished and ancient bloodline, but where the hell had that got him? To be fair, he bought his plane ticket way last minute but he was too busy feeling sorry for himself to acknowledge that fact. He took comfort in the fact that it wasn't that long of a trip from his personal estates outside Toronto to the capital city of Sedis.

Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose, wincing when a baby two rows ahead of him started wailing like the plane was on fire and let out a deep sigh. At least the flight gave him some time to review before the senatorial session began. That was another thing about being the Second Progenitor of one of the four ruling families, he had to actually help rule the nation which was a hell of a lot of work even with Stuart and Lydia, First and Third Progenitors of House Stilinski respectively, and three Progenitors from each of the other three noble houses working in tangent with him. Silently cursing their father, who, retiring after over two centuries of senate service was probably laughing it up on some tropical beach, Stiles started reviewing the notes that Stuart and Lydia had forwarded him the night before.

After an hour of wading through the minutia of state's work all Stiles really understood about the upcoming session was that a) First Progenitor Jackson of House Whittemore was and always would be an asshat who didn't understand that taxes on the obscenely wealthy were a thing for a reason b) Third Progenitor Allison of House Argent was a little too naïve when it came to humans and c) his brother and sister were awesome, kind people for compiling a senatorial ‘cheat sheet’ for him.

There weren’t very many issues to go over with the senate as a whole. Each progenitor had their own territory over which they ruled within their House’s land and took care of any issues within. The senate convened only to resolve problems concerning the entire nation. For example, the Stilinski controlled Principality of Ferrum stretched from the eastern shores of the Lakes Eerie and Ontario to the eastern tip of Superior and to the north of Lake Michigan. Stiles ruled the smallest section of the principality from his home in Toronto. His brother Stuart had the largest property as the oldest of the Stilinski Progenitors, controlling the western half of the principality.

Fighting his Russian neighbor for dominion over the arm rest, then, upon winning, realizing there was something sticky and sickly sweet on it, Stiles began to miss his home fiercely.

***

Finally touching down in Sedis, Stiles spent a while being buffeted like a ping pong ball between mothers with cranky two year olds, sweaty tourists and bedraggled businessmen at the terminal before washing up in baggage claim. He tried to be happy about the fact that he wasn’t being given special treatment just because he was practically royalty, but found it hard to feel grateful when he was trying not to get crushed between a massive man with his wife and the luggage carousel.

When he got through the crowd, relatively intact, with his suitcase to the curb he was relieved to see a familiar face. Victor, a human personal driver used by the Stilinskis for most of his life when they came to Sedis, rescued him from the crush of people. Victor gave Stiles a smile that made the faint wrinkles around his eyes crinkle and Stiles was once again taken aback by how quickly humans aged. To vampires, with life spans stretching into many hundreds of years, human lives flitted by like smoke.

"Welcome back, Progenitor Stilinski," Victor said, gently taking the bag from Stiles' hand.

"Ugh, please don't start with the ' _milord_ ' crap. Stuart might get off on that medieval stuff but it just makes me feel weird," said Stiles as Victor opened the back passenger door for him.

"Apologies milord," Victor grinned as Stiles rolled his eyes.

The traffic surrounding the airport was, as always, atrocious, especially considering that it was high summer and everyone and their grandma were trying to squeeze in a few vacation days in the Eternal City. While Victor performed complex automotive acrobatics that made Stiles cringe, he dug out his phone his phone and called his sister.

Lydia picked up on the first ring. “ _You were supposed to call me the minute you landed._ ”

“Uh-“he began, dumbly.

" _I hope you realize that the Senate convenes in less than an hour," she continued, bulldozing over him._

"Wow, hey sis, how ya doing, I'm fantastic, personally, the flight was great too, thanks for asking," he said with a grin.

He couldn't help but smile hearing his sister's voice again. Being groomed for the role of leading a nation growing up was tough; where Stiles had whined and complained, Lydia buckled down and studied hard. She was by far the worthiest of her position in the senate between the three Stilinski siblings and she took her responsibilities very seriously.

He could hear her huff over the phone. " _It’s amazing how truly unprofessional you are. You do understand that you are a senator, right? That you have a responsibility to the people of this nation to-"_

"Yeah yeah yeah, whatever, I read the stuff you and Stuart sent me, I'm ready to make political magic happen," Stiles interrupted her.

" _Is that all the prep work you did for this session Stiles?_ "

He had to admit, Lydia had a terrifying angry voice.

"Wha-? No of course not. Yeah, I'm totally set," he tried to save lamely. It was worth a shot.

There was a moment of icy silence before he could hear her take a deep, calming breath. " _Stop by the house and change into an actual suit._ "

Stiles looked down at his clothes. His shirt, while a button up, was into its third day of use, with flecks of salsa from his lunch on the breast. His pants were...well, they were ratty old sweat pants he probably should have thrown out a couple years ago. Nothing suitable for a vampire noble. "How did you-?" he began but was stopped by the sound of her hanging up.

"Are we to make a stop at _Ferrum Palatium,_ before the _Curia_ my Lord?" Victor asked from behind the wheel. Each of the ruling families had official residences in Sedis but usually preferred to live in the lands they governed.

Stiles slid down in his seat and grumbled an affirmative.

Buildings, ancient and dignified, new and gleaming, flashed by his window as the car whizzed around the tiny congested streets. Sedis had always been the capital of Concordia. Some of the buildings, commissioned by his distant ancestors, had been taken stone by stone from Rome and reassembled in North America after the Vampires were pushed out of Europe in the 15th century. Ancient statues of the Primogenitor Herself, Polyphonte Strixes, mother of the four noble bloodlines, stood wildly out of place in between a Wells Fargo and a Seven Eleven. Sedis, as well as the Federation of Concordia itself, was a clash of the new and the unspeakably old, but that tended to happen in a nation where the average life expectancy was 400 years. Marble temples to Lilith and other prominent members of their race huddled in the shadows of sleek skyscrapers; Billboards advertising the new McFlurry flavor written entirely in Latin.

Concordia was a testament to the vampire race's will to survive and thrive.  Vampires had ruled Rome, and subsequently Europe, since the day the immortal queen Dido of Carthage slew the werewolf Romulus, enslaved his progeny and took his city for her own. Their kind ruled for over a thousand years, but alas, they had grown complacent in their power. Humans, though weaker and slower to heal, had one advantage on the vampires: their overwhelming numbers. In one fell swoop, their dynasty was ended and in the following century, they and their werewolf slaves were forced off of the European continent altogether to find shelter in the unknown depths of the New World. Beaten, tired, their numbers greatly reduced, the vampires worked to build a haven for their race away from humans. Concordia was the result of their hard work.

The nation had weathered British, French and Spanish attempts to invade and colonize lands they shared with the native tribes, they stolidly refused to involve themselves in the bloody American Revolution or aid either side in the Civil War. For centuries they barricaded themselves from human interaction, wary of the consequences.

It was only at the dawn of the 20th century that vampires once again ventured into the dangerous waters of mortal affairs. They recognized it as the only way to ensure their safety. Concordia became the headquarters for major corporations and the capital of western culture. Insinuating their way into the lives of humans, the vampires made themselves indispensable to the world economy.

Stiles was only 55, but he had lived long enough to recognize the progress that had been made. Sanguinate, a synthetic blood substitute, had rendered feeding from humans obsolete for the vampire masses, the werewolf clans that had run rampant after the fall of the Roman Empire had been tamed and subjugated and powerful human nations were now allied with Concordia. He was proud of the country that Concordia had been built to be, and Sedis was its crowning achievement, a city both old and new and bursting with potential.

Victor made a sharp right up a narrow alley that lead to a large gated court yard.

The  _Ferrum Palatium_  was a hulking mass of gaudy stone work and fussy gardens but Stiles was happy to see it all the same. At least it wasn't like the _Aurea Palatium,_ that place was ridiculous. The overstated manor had been the stage of some of his earliest pranks as well as witness to the few memories he had of his mother before her untimely death.

The car stopped in front of the cavernous front entrance and Stiles hopped out, promising Victor that he'd be quick. Inside was a buzz of activity as servants and slaves alike went about their business. The manor was just this side of massive, an impressive feat considering how cramped for space Sedis was, so Stiles only got lost a few times getting to his personal rooms and was only slightly winded. He threw his suitcase down on the bed with the thought of unpacking later that night before putting on one of the few suits he owned, a present from Lydia of course. The dark charcoal of the fabric served to make his already pale skin nearly translucent and his amber eyes, a Stilinski family trait, a dark yellow. After getting dressed and fixing the weird duck butt thing his hair was doing, he hustled back downstairs.

It was odd to be back after so long. He hadn't been in Sedis since the year previous for the annual senate session and then he had stayed in a hotel instead of his ancestral house. In all honesty, he hadn't been back home since his mother's death four decades ago. Even in all its immensity and after so many years, Stiles could still spot his mom's touch in the pale curtains she bought for the ballroom when he was seven, the oriental vase she had been gifted on one of her diplomatic visits and the brittle antique table her grandmother had left her (Stiles had got in trouble for spilling soda on it as a kid).

It was strange how the past clung to the place for so many years.

Stiles shook his head to clear it of old memories. Lydia would literally kill him if he was late.

"Alright Victor," he said, slipping into the back seat of the sleek black car, "off to the circus."

***

__

_ Derek _

"Morning everybody!" shouted the Trainer. The transition from complete darkness to blinding white light as the overhead lights flipped on made Derek's eyes ache. Bringing the heel of his hand to rub the sleep from his eyes, Derek unfurled from the tight ball he had curled into during the night.

The room was completely silent as the 'wolves on either side of him awoke except for the rustle of thin, scratchy blankets and the clink of their collars. Derek absently hooked a finger under his own and scratched at the stubble on his Adam's apple. 

Trainer Blackwell pushed the breakfast cart down the aisles of cages, slipping trays of food through the slot in the cage doors. Derek was a veteran of the training center and one of the better behaved 'wolves, so he was one of the first to be served. He ignored the familiar stink and burnt taste of the protein scramble as he shoveled palms full of it into his mouth. Fuel was fuel. That was one of the first things he learned when he was taken away from his mother at the breeding facility: never turn your nose up at food. If they were lucky, they'd be given half this amount for dinner after their exercises.

After being fed, the trainers led them one by one out into the gym. They spent the next three hours honing their bodies under the watchful eye of supervisors before being rotated to the sparring rings. Even is the other slaves designations weren’t combat, owners usually preferred to have something pretty to look at and it worked off excess energy.

The trainers only matched Derek off against other alphas after he nearly beat a beta opponent to death. It was nothing personal against the beta, the man just wouldn't submit. Derek beta shifted and launched himself at the compact female alpha facing him. There was a split second for him to realize his mistake before she hooked a clawed hand under his armpit and used his momentum to toss him out of the ring. He conceded defeat while the trainers marked down the results on their data pads.

Derek faced four more opponents, which he beat, before the thirty 'wolves were segregated into groups. The facility had no specific concentration, so the first part of the day was used for general training before breaking the wolves up by their intended use. Those meant for pleasure followed Trainer Harris into the sublevels, those meant for menial purposes were herded outside by Trainer Blackwell and those meant for combat were led by Trainer Argent and several supervisors into the weapons room.

Derek always liked coming into the weapons room. It was nothing much to look at, just a large cement box filled with racks and locked cases of guns, knives, swords, spears and the like, but the light was dimmer, warmer, and it smelled clean, unlike the kennels. He liked the cool curve of a knife in his hand and the burst of heat after a gunshot. This was the only place in the entire facility where the 'wolves were given access to anything even close to a weapon and it made him feel powerful.

Of the seven 'wolves being trained as soldiers, personal guards and public security assistants, Derek was by far the oldest. At 26, he was five years above the average trainee age. It still seemed weird to him that he had only spent 17 years of his life in the Training Center when it felt infinitely longer than that. It didn't really matter to him though. Nothing really mattered.

The group lined up to receive their practice schedule before shuffling off to their assigned places. Regrettably, Derek had been assigned to work with the bow and arrow for the day. Nothing else in the facility's entire inventory gave Derek half the trouble the bow and arrow did. He didn't exactly understand why they would ever need to use such a primitive weapon against an enemy in 2015 but he wasn't about to voice his opinion.

The supervisor stood a healthy distance back from Derek as he slid an arrow into place and aimed at the paper target several yards in front of him. Breathing properly as he had been previously instructed, Derek pulled the string back, arm taught and back straight, before calculating his shot. One final breath in, he steadied himself and let the arrow fly as he let the breath out.

Quivering, pierced straight through the wooden stand the target laid on, the arrow was four inches off of the bull's eye. The supervisor quietly took notes. Letting out a frustrated huff, Derek bent to get another arrow before notching it and trying again.

His favorite weapon by far was the handgun. Light, easily concealed, compact it was the perfect tool.

_ Thwap _ .

This time the arrow was three inches off the mark. Derek looked almost longingly at the other side of the room where a 'wolf, Steve or Scott, practiced with a semi-automatic assault rifle under the watchful eye of Trainer Argent.

"Continue _Servus_ Hale," the supervisor prompted, noticing Derek's distraction.

Sighing, Derek turned back to the task at hand.

 After the specialized training was completed for the day the 'wolves were moved back to their cages and given dinner. However, on days that buyers came to the facility the 'wolves, depending on their intended use, were taken to the front hall to be presented. The trainers gathered all thirty 'wolves together and hurried them through the communal showers to wash the sweat of the day away. Once they were deemed clean enough, attendants rubbed them down with rough towels until they were dry and moved them into the auction hall. All of them were nude, but that wasn't anything new. Nudity, like subservience to humans and vampires, was a part of werewolf life.

It had to have been a large group of buyers to necessitate all of the 'wolves being presented at once.

The auction room was spherical with a circular stage in the center. The 'wolves were placed side by side at the very edge of the stage. Beneath them, little screens blinked to life, listing their age, their designation, their medical records and their breeding records. Some buyers liked having a pedigreed pet, after all.

Once they were all in position, the supervisors left the room, leaving only the 'wolves and the three head trainers behind. All lights except those over the stage were turned off to bring attention to the slaves for purchase.

The buyers entered the room quietly through a back door, each focused on the merchandise before them. The sudden smell of vampire made Derek's nose flare. All the trainers at the facility were human except for Trainer Argent. He couldn't remember the last time he had been in a room with so many blood suckers before. They circled the stage singularly, stopping once in a while to read through the information on the screen before moving on or pulling a trainer aside to ask a question. Some 'wolves, those intended for pleasure mostly, were asked to step down and allow their potential owner to poke and prod them with foreign hands before being asked to return to their places.

The inspection seemed to go on for hours and Derek couldn't help but be bored. He had participated in hundreds of auctions. Buyers would give him a few glances in the beginning but ignored him once they got a peek at his breeding history. Since he had been cleared for distribution after his 18th birthday, he had watched as the other 'wolves got homes within three or four auction cycles while he was continuously passed up. It had hurt for a few years before he got to the point where he really didn't care. All he really cared to do at that moment was sleep. He was tired, he was still a little angry with himself for failing to perfect his archery and this auction was going nowhere for him.

Hiding a yawn behind the back of his hand, he didn't see the man coming until the trainer was prompting him to step down from the stage. Uncertain and certainly confused, Derek did as he was directed. His potential owner was a very stout, very old, _very_ unattractive male vampire, who was currently looking at him like he was a glass of fresh virgin's blood, if virgin’s blood is what did it for vampires. The man gripped his arms and made him hold them out horizontally at his sides, proceeding to run his gnarled fingers over the smooth muscles of Derek's sides and stomach.

"Hmm, pretty, yes you are," the man smiled, making a rough garble in his throat that Derek realized must be a chuckle. "Older, yes, but pretty nonetheless."

Trainer Blackwell hovered awkwardly over the vampire's shouldered, shifting from foot to foot. "Sir, if you're looking for a pleasure slave we have several fine 'wolves that I'd be happy to show you."

The man clicked his tongue in displeasure and waved Blackwell away. "This one will make a fine bed warmer. How much for it?"

All Derek could do was stand stock still, silently panicking as the man before him discussed turning him into his own personal fuck toy. That wasn't his designated purpose. He wasn't meant for that. It _wasn't what he wanted_.

"I apologize, sir, but _Servus_ Hale here is a combat type. He's not designated for pleasure." Trainer Blackwell looked like he wanted to melt into the floor at the glare the man shot him.

"Excuse me?" The man asked in a deadly whisper, turning to face Blackwell. "It'll be whatever I damn well want it to be. Now tell me how much it is, take my money and give it to me," he snarled, razor edged teeth flashing in his withered face.

 "I-I, sir, it's not possible..."

Sweat started to break out on Derek's upper lip. It wasn't exactly legal to purchase a slave for any reason other than its designated purpose but it was done on occasion. Blackwell was human and therefor had little authority in the face of a vampire. Derek had imagined what his future owner might be, what he might be used for. Most combat slaves were used as personal body guards by rich or noble vampires. Whatever Derek had dreamt of as his possible home in his youth, he never imagined being fucked against his will by some disgusting, centuries old blood sucker.

As the man argued with Trainer Blackwell, the other buyers and 'wolves alike turned to focus on the scene. The other trainers hesitated to get involved even as Blackwell sent them pleading looks.

Derek could hear his blood pounding like a drum in his ears. At least those designated for pleasure had been bred for the purpose and had their entire lives to get used to the idea. If Derek was sold to this vampire, it would mean being dumped into a completely unknown situation.

Panic pressed tight at the back of his throat and he could feel his wolf dangerously close to the surface. Trying to keep the wolf in check like his training had taught him, he blocked out everything around him and concentrated on bringing his breathing and blood pressure down. For a moment he felt like he had succeeded in keeping his animal side in check.

"This?" The man reached out and grabbed the tender flesh between Derek's legs, giving it a harsh squeeze with his thorny fingers. "This will be mine. Now. How. Much?"

The thin veneer of control Derek had been fighting for snapped. The trainers weren't going to protect him. Blackwell might be trying to dissuade the man but he wouldn't really get in his way. None of the other trainers were stepping in to help and the other buyers were looking on as if the utter destruction of his life was light entertainment. This one moment was the culmination of his life as a werewolf: something lower than low, a thing to be played with, more beast than man.

It was as if everything bad that had happened to Derek was building up behind him, pushing him to act, to fight against this injustice.

If they weren't going to protect him, Derek was going to protect himself.

"-really, the others are quite nice, just let me show-" Blackwell was still weakly trying to distract the customer. The man still had Derek's cock and balls crushed in his hand but he was turned away to continue the argument.

It was easy really.

Derek beta just shifted his hand to release his claws and, quick as lighting, the putrid little man was down a hand.

Everything went still as death in the room, people too stunned to move, even the vampire. He looked back at Derek, his face once so smug now ashen and slack, then looked down at the stump at the end of his wrist that wept black blood. Reaching down, Derek loosened the severed appendage that still held on to him as if unaware that it was parted from its body and threw it across the room. It skittered and slid across the concrete and slowed to a stop.

The wail the injured vampire let out sent the audience screaming and running for the exit and jolted the trainers out of their stupor as they rushed forward to subdue Derek.

They pulled out their Tasers and aconite infused batons and started beating him into the ground. The electricity from the Tasers sent waves of pain from his body that left him spasming even as he felt his flesh burn from the aconite's touch and bones give and snap under the batons' fury.

The last image he saw before everything faded to the deep black of unconsciousness was the man pathetically crawling toward his severed hand while holding his injured arm against his chest like a wounded animal.

Derek smiled.     

***

__

_ Stuart _

One would probably expect the First Progenitor of the prominent House Stilinski of the Ferrum Bloodline to have an army of people to carry out his every whim. That, to an extent, was true, although there were certain chores Stuart insisted on doing on his own. Choosing a suitable slave was among the chores he preferred to see to himself.

The werewolf population had been subjugated by Queen Dido in the mid-700s BCE. Besides the little rebellion stint several rogue packs pulled after the dissolution of vampire dominion in Europe, werewolves had been specially bred and trained for specific roles for the past two and a half millennia. Alphas were bred for their strength and aggression, their heightened senses and their long lives as well as their unshakable loyalty in the vampire they perceived as their master. However, they were hard to handle as their positon as Alphas instilled in them an instinct to dominate and lead the ‘pack’ rather than follow. Betas were bred for their relative docility and submissiveness. When not under the control of a master, they followed the will of their Alpha brethren. Concordia prided itself on its top of the line breeding and training centers, supplying Concordian citizens as well as the rest of the world with the best werewolf slaves on the market. In fact, their prowess at werewolf training reestablished the vampires' severed ties with Europe and prompted the fledgling United States to broker an alliance with Concordia, creating a flow of trade between the two nations that had endured the centuries.

Stuart had spoken at the last senate session several days past about reviving the old tradition of a Praetorian Guard. The practice had been discarded in their hasty retreat from Rome and forgotten in the subsequent years of building the vampire nation up, but in this modern age what with tensions growing between Canada and Western Europe he felt it may soon become a necessity. Surprisingly, First Progenitor Jackson of House Whittemore had agreed with him, as had all of House Reyes and House Argent. Until then, the senate had employed private security when needed or relied on their own powers to protect themselves. The motion had passed, however, and Stuart had been appointed the role of choosing personal werewolf guards for the entire senate, which was just as he wanted it.

He had spent the last three days going from compound to compound, participating in the auctions at each and looking for the perfect specimens to fill the positions of the Praetorian Guard. So far, he had already purchased seven 'wolves and burned through most of the funds he had been allotted. Currently those seven slaves were en-route to their new masters for approval.

Now all he had to do was find 'wolves for his two siblings, First Progenitor Kira of House Argent, himself and he would be done. The Silvis Training Facility came very well recommended even with its controversial position near the Canadian border in the north of the Principality of Argentum. The actual training and living areas were subterranean but the auction room sat directly behind the main building above ground. As the potential buyers waited outside the doors, several vampires bowed their heads to him in recognition of his status. Stuart acknowledged them with a nod of his own, secretly very pleased.

The three previous Progenitors of House Stilinski had retired from office only a couple decades before and it was still taking time for the people to see Stuart and his siblings as true authorities sans their father. That was the one downside to the vampire race; their long lives gave them long memories and innovation moved at a snail’s pace compared to that of the humans.

The three ‘new’ Stilinski representatives had taken over for their father, his uncle and his cousin, who had filled their mother’s seat after she passed away.

An attendant opened the doors and ushered the buyers into a completely round room with a stage bearing a large group of 'wolves in the center. No matter how many times he went to the auctions, Stuart was always a little off put by the nudity of the 'wolves and their complete disregard for their clothless state. Avoiding looking at their genitals, Stuart made his trek around the stage, weighing the worth of each 'wolf while tracking the movements of his fellow vampires. He was delighted to recognize Ambrose Hollison, an Argent appointed high court judge who seemed very intent on the younger slaves designated for pleasure. The man was 460 if he was a day and the years did not become him. Usually, even in extremely old age, vampires managed to retain a modicum of youthful beauty or elegance. Not so for poor little Ambrose. Time seemed to have worn away at him like water to stone. Stuart noted the man in his memory and went back to his inspection, working on a way to twist this into useful blackmail. He was very interested in what Judge Hollison's wife might think about her husband buying a bed warmer.

Working methodically, Stuart weeded out the 'wolves designated for positions other than combat. He was left with seven 'wolves to choose from, all seemed to be appropriate for the job he had in mind.

One 'wolf in particular caught his attention. Stuart stared at the 'wolf's back from where he pretended to read through one _Servus_ McCall's pedigree. He had been circling _Servus_ Hale for the better part of half an hour. The 'wolf's weapons stats were impressive, not to mention his physique. Thick ropes of muscle corded his arms and long legs, his back rippled in suppressed power as he shook the tension from his shoulders. Also, Stuart had tried not to look, truly he had, but he couldn't ignore that the 'wolf had a massive cock, not that that made him a better potential guard. _Servus_ Hale was perfect in every way, but...

The only flaw was the 'wolf's less than stellar breeding history: the alpha pup of a wild 'wolf and an unknown, most likely untamed father. Other than that, Servus Hale was practically perfect, even if he was somewhat older than the other slaves. His ancestry was the only detail that had Stuart hesitating.

Wild 'wolves weren't common, but Concordia ran into them from time to time considering the strong abolition movement gaining momentum in Canada. Humans and freed werewolves alike ran underground networks at the edges of Concordia cycling ‘wolves away from their masters and up into Canada where they were given asylum.

They were by far the hardest to break, train and control. Even their offspring tended toward feral behavior. What's more, _Servus_ Hale was an Alpha as was his mother before him, hell, his father might have been as well for all Stuart knew. Those factors only worked to double the 'wolf's natural aggression and dominance. It would take an exceptional vampire to master him. That he was so old, considering, and still up for auction spoke volumes about the unease he inspired in potential buyers. No one wanted to buy a pet that might rip them to shreds. He was, Stuart conceded after letting his eyes travel up and down his body again, rather intimidating.

 Stuart looked away from Hale and placed a bid on McCall, low enough to be cost effective but high enough to ensure it deterred others from thinking about out bidding him. The 'wolf was enough of a puppy to endear Kira to him while having decent combat skills. He moved on to two muscular red headed twins standing side by side. They looked strong enough and their stats proved that they had adequate experience. Besides, it would be cute if he and Lydia had a matching pair.

Just as he finished placing a bid on the twins as a set, he was distracted by a commotion on the other side of the stage. The view was somewhat blocked as the other buyers moved to look, but he recognized Hale's dark head poking above the crowd.

It seemed Judge Hollison had set his sights on Servus Hale as his intended bed warmer. Strange, Stuart thought the man preferred his slaves weaker, more docile looking. He watched on in amusement and irritation as Hollison continued to argue with one of the trainers over Servus Hale. The vampire was persistent, Stuart had to give him that at least.

The situation exploded when Servus Hale seemingly went berserk and attacked Hollison, slicing the offending hand that had been touching him in a single sweep of his razor sharp claws. Stuart blinked in surprise. _Interesting._ His eyes bled red with his beta shift, focused in murderous intent on Hollison as he curled over his mutilated limb. The other buyers shouted in panic and fled the room in one seething, shrieking swarm as the other 'wolves were led away to their cages by a white faced trainer. Stuart simply moved closer to get a better look.

A wave of batons and tazers crashed down on Derek, blocking Stuart's view as guards and trainers surrounded the 'wolf. When they pulled away from him to assist the whimpering ball of Judge Hollison, Servus Hale's body was brindled red and purple with bruises and swelling, the aconite in the batons halting his healing and leaving him weak.

Stuart walked over to the injured 'wolf, cool and collected, nudging his prone form with his shoe. "Hey, 'wolf. Still among the living?"

The ‘wolf didn’t wake up, but a little frown pinched his face. Stuart grinned down at him.

"Progenitor Stuart, Progenitor Stuart!" Stuart groaned, looking over his shoulder to see one of his many assistants stumbling into the auction room. "Progenitor Stuart, are you all right? The driver told me there was a feral werewolf that-" the assistant skidded to a halt next to him, gasping at the sight of Servus Hale on the floor before them.

Stuart gave him a withering look and turned to one of the trainers not involved in attending Judge Hollison. "You there," he called, motioning the man over.

"Y-yes sir?" It was the same man that had been talking to Judge Hollison. His face was damp with sickly sweat and his knees were shaking so hard they looked like they were about to give out. "Sir, I'm so sorry about the disturbance, this-nothing like this has ever happened here before."

"Quite alright, I assure you." Stuart tried calming the trainer down. He didn't want the man having a heart attack on him before he got what he wanted from him. "I'm curious; what are you going to do with this one?" He inclined his head downward toward Servus Hale.

"Him?" The trainer looked confused. "He attacked a vampire, sir, he's going to be euthanized as per protocol."

"Hmm," Stuart replied, scrunching up his forehead in thought. "If he's to be put down already, would I get a discount if I offered to buy him?"

"P-progenitor Stuart!"

"Sir!"

"What?" asked Stuart, irritated with them both. He was running low on money after securing the purchase of the other three 'wolves, he needed just one more slave for his baby brother. Besides, Stiles had always taken in strays when they were kids, much to the dismay of the servants and slaves in charge of cleaning. It was hard to keep a palace spotless when one had to look after 9 cats, 15 dogs, 2 handicapped pigeons and a turtle. Servus Hale was just a really big stray with a big dick and possibly homicidal tendencies.

"I-I, well, I'll have to ask the manager." The trainer said.

"Do that. Tell them First Progenitor Stuart of House Stilinski is asking."

He watched the trainer scamper away while Hollison was carried to the ambulance waiting outside.

"You," he turned to his assistant. "Go fetch the three 'wolves under my name in the holding cell and put them in the transporter."

The assistant nodded and ran off to complete his task.

Stuart looked back at Servus Hale. He was completely passed out and drooling ever so slightly onto the polished concrete floor. He grinned.

Stiles was going to love him.

 


	2. I'm Your New Master

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I hoped you liked the first chapter, here's another.  
> MTV owns all characters and canon backstories.

_Stiles_

Stiles did not love him.

He’d started freaking out when Stuart barged into his room with his ‘present’. Said present, a sullen, silent, _very muscular_ werewolf, sat in his crate staring at him. Stiles stared back.

He thought back to two hours earlier when Stuart showed up at the _Ferrum Palatium_ , 'wolf slaves in tow. Stiles had voted against reinstating the Praetorian Guard in the last senate session; the thought of being a 'wolf master made him queasy. Even as a kid in school, he had been against it, refusing to write a paper outlining the benefits of slavery for his third grade ethics class. He ended up failing the class but that’s okay because his teacher Professor Harris was a vampire supremacist and a complete ass. Call Stiles crazy but owning and using an intelligent, sentient creature as a tool, especially a species so close to vampires and humans alike, never sat well with him, so when Stuart presented him with his then unconscious guard slave he was less than pleased.

"What the fuck, Stuart, I said I didn't want one!" Stiles said as two burly servants laid the 'wolf down in his crate beside Stiles' bed. The slave was easily 6''5, black haired, good looking (who was Stiles kidding, the guy was downright pretty) and _omigod was that a third leg or was this guy just really fucking hung_. "Seriously, dude," he groaned. There was a long history between them of Stiles saying ‘no’ to something and Stuart doing it anyway, because “I’m your big brother” is apparently a good enough reason to do stuff against somebody’s will.

Stuart shrugged. "That isn't up to you, you were out voted _dude_. Besides, I want to make sure my wittle baby brother is as safe as can be." He pinched Stiles' cheek, laughing when Stiles batted his hand away with a scowl. Stiles rued the fact that he was the baby of the family, mostly because Lydia and Stuart lorded their superiority over him any and every chance they got.  "Besides, he was on sale."

"Uh, what does that mean exactly?" Stiles asked. Lydia would probably die of shame if Stuart got her slave on sale too.

"Well," Stuart walked over to the 'wolf, prodding his still body with a finger, "he kind of attacked a vampire. It's probably because he's wild _and_ an alpha. Can't control his emotions and instincts."

Stiles narrowed his eyes at his older brother. "Are you fucking with me, man?"

Stuart shook his head. "They were going to put him down and I know how you love a good charity case."

"You're really not fucking with me." Stiles said blankly, eyes moving from the 'wolf to his brother and back again before exploding in a chaos of limbs. "Are you kidding me?! What makes you think I can handle a regular werewolf let alone a wild alpha one? Are you insane?"

"Orcus Claudius Stilinski, you will use your inside voice," Stuart said teasingly with a smug curl to his lips.

"Don't use real my name, you know how much I hate it," Stiles whined, temporarily distracted.

"You're named after our grandmother's grandfather and our mother, take pride in it." Stuart said. It was somewhat of a tradition for noble blooded vampires to be named after prominent members of their family. A stupid tradition, in Stiles’ opinion.

"Okay, but who thinks 'you know what I want to call my adorable, innocent, new born son? _Orcus_ '?" Stiles asked.

Stuart looked away from Stiles, leaning over the 'wolf to move his face this way and that, admiring his features in the warm light. "Mother and father apparently."

"True, but-wait a minute, back to the point of this conversation! How do you know this guy's not going to try to take a bite of my tender, juicy flesh? Or-or rip out my throat? With his _teeth?_ "

Stuart sighed and stood up straight. "Because you are Second Progenitor Stiles of House Stilinski of the _Ferrum_ bloodline. You have power beyond all common vampires and even most of the senate. I have faith in you little brother.” He gripped Stiles' shoulder and smiled at him. “You underestimate yourself. Stop it."

"Anyway, I'm off. I still have to give Lydia hers." Stuart said, promptly leaving Stiles alone with his super naked guard.

The 'wolf woke up fifteen minutes after Stuart left. Stiles sat down on the floor besides the crate.

"Hey, so, I guess I'm your new master? My name's Stiles." He reached through the gaps in the crate's to shake hands. He let his hand hang there, the 'wolf glaring at it suspiciously, before hesitantly pulling it back. "Ookay then."

They spent the next two hours like that, Stiles occasionally getting up to do something, feeling awkward in the absolute silence, then sitting back down to look at the 'wolf. Stiles took that time to look the 'wolf over, cataloguing his injuries. His eyes had deep purple circles around them and his body was riddled with dark bruises. Swelling on his left arm and ribs spoke of fractured or broken bones. Stiles was left somewhat amazed at werewolf pain tolerance and sickened at what the trainers had done to him even knowing what the ‘wolf had done. The fact that the wounds weren't healing meant that whatever he had been beaten with had been infused with aconite, more commonly known as wolfsbane.  Stiles was very intimate with the plant. It had been one of most effective weapons against the werewolf race over the ages of vampires' subjugation of them.

Finally Stiles couldn't handle the silence any longer. He'd always had a thing about silence.

"Uh, I can help, if you want. With your wounds I mean," he said.

The 'wolf blinked at him and Stiles could have sworn one of his eyebrows twitched.

"No, seriously, I can help. I inherited my mom's gift," Stiles tried convincing the 'wolf.

Each of the noble bloodlines had gifts, as they were the direct descendants of the Primogenitor Polyphonte Strixes, and through her, they could claim relation to Mother Lilith. That was how they were chosen to be Progenitors in the first place. The three most powerful vampires of each bloodline in a generation were given a seat in the senate when a senior Progenitor within their family stepped down, or was killed, based on their skill. The Ferrum vampires’ powers were tied to life and death, those of Chalceus blood were given the gifts of the mind, Aureius vampires had elemental affinities and the blood of Argentum carried with it the power of super enhanced senses. Stiles' gift, being of Ferrum, manifested as a healing touch, the manipulation of energy, just like his mother before him. Stuart was able to kill with one touch, stealing the life force of a person, and Lydia was able to foretell death. She only found out that that was how her gift manifested when she shrieked the night before their mother's death.

"You're all banged up." Stiles let his eyes rove over the 'wolf's body once more. "If I open your crate and let you out to heal you, do you promise not to eat me? Or if you want a nibble, just, don’t go for the face or the nuts?" He tried not to blush over his verbal vomit. His brain to mouth filter had always been screwy but it was utterly nonexistent whenever he got nervous.

All he got in response was another facial twitch which Stiles thought looked suspiciously like the 'wolf trying not to raise an eyebrow at him.

"Right. You’re probably going to eat me anyway." He muttered to himself, moving to undo the latch of the cage with a sigh. This would either turn out well with the werewolf healed and thankful to him or with Stiles splattered all over the walls.

_Primogenitor, please don't let this be a horrible mistake_ , he prayed silently as the door swung open.

 

_***_

 

_Derek_

To say that Derek was confused was an understatement.

Several hours ago he had woken up drowning in vampire stench in a place he was positive was not the training facility. His was in a crate, something he was intimately familiar with, but the crate itself was in a large, opulently decorated room. The walls had old wooden paneling halfway up, the rest covered in what looked like hand embroidered toile. Heavy velvet curtains blocked most of the sunlight pouring in through the floor to ceiling windows, turning the air liquid with the orange light of the evening sun. Paintings of grandly dressed men and women covered the walls that didn't have book shelves crammed full of ancient tomes on them.

This was definitely not the facility.   

A slim, pale vampire with almost golden eyes sat on the floor beside him, only inches from the bars.

Derek startled a bit when he spoke. "Hey, so, I guess I'm your new master? My name's Stiles." The vampire said, reaching in between the bars towards Derek. He fought the urge to pull away from the hand. He couldn't afford this vampire thinking him weak. The pain wracking his body was too great at the moment for him to put up any defense. The vampire eventually withdrew his hand, muttered to himself, and tinkered with odds and ends of things around the room, pulling clothes out of a small bag and shoving them haphazardly into an old dresser.

Derek slowly catalogued where he was injured in his mind, controlling his breathing and keeping tight control of the pain. An unknown number of his ribs were cracked, one of the gracefully curved bones of his right arm was fractured and it hurt like a mother fucker to move his head. The aconite was stopping him from healing as quickly as he had liked, but he couldn't complain. The fact that he was still breathing was amazing, seeing as he had attacked a vampire. He'd seen it once before; the facility took in stray caught along the Canadian border, tried to train her to be a good slave but she was just too wild. She ripped a good chunk out of one of the trainers. They made the other wolves watch as they beheaded her and burned her body to ashes. So why was he still alive? What he'd done wasn't any better than what that stray had done, it was probably worse seeing as he had attacked a vampire customer and she’d only attacked a human employee. So why had he been spared? He pushed the questions clouding his focus out of his mind and concentrated on the matter at hand.

It was strange. The longer he spent in the company of this vampire, this _Stiles_ , while he bumbled about the room the more at ease he felt. At the training center, he had never really thought that he would get a master, he was 'past his sell by date' as some of the trainers liked to say, but he never stopped dreaming about being sold if only to escape the facility. Though still cautious and hyper alert, Derek felt some of the tension leave his body. It wasn't until he let loosen up a little that he realized how hard he'd been clenching his entire body, thus doubling the pain of his injuries. He let out a quiet breath of relief and watched as Stiles sat beside him once more.

 "Uh, I can help, if you want. With your wounds I mean," Stiles said after a moment.

That caught Derek's full attention. He'd heard of masters trying to trick their slaves into trusting them. Some wanted a docile slave and others just wanted to fuck with a creature unable to fight back. This wouldn't work on him.

"No, seriously, I can help. I inherited my mom's gift," the vampire persisted.

Derek ignored him in favor of continuing to stare at him.

"You're all banged up." Stiles let his eyes rove over the 'wolf's body once more. "If I open your crate and let you out to heal you, do you promise not to eat me? Or if you want a nibble, just, don’t go for the face or the nuts."

Derek held in a snort of indignation. Like he would kill his new master? His admittedly murky future would clear right up and there really would be only one future for him. Death. He was lucky enough to be alive then. The best thing to do would be to humor Stiles and let him do as he please. After all, Derek was his property.

He couldn't help cringing away slightly from the vampire as his crate door opened and the man crawled inside with him. The crate itself was big enough for four people to kneel in without being too cramped and Derek had lost the last vestiges of his claustrophobia after years of being confined to a cage half the size.

Derek forced himself to stay still as Stiles laid his hands on him. They were cool and dry and soft against the damaged parts of his painful body, running in soothing paths across his skin. His eyes flicked up to watch the vampires face. Stiles closed his eyes and furrowed his brow as if in deep concentration, the set of his face completely serious. Derek wasn't exactly sure what he should expect or even if anything was going to happen. Thirty seconds passed where Derek felt nothing and Stiles' eyebrows scrunched up more in frustration before it happened.

The feeling was indescribable. The only thing Derek could compare it to was one of the few memories he had of his early childhood. Each breeding center had mandatory recreational areas for mothers and their pups. Really it was just a stand of trees with a few tables and chairs and an old jungle gym. On special summer days, the attendants would bring out a little inflatable pool for the younger children and fill it up with a hose. The sun was hot, but the water was cold. His mother sat outside the kiddie pool, her arms reaching over the edge to splash him and play with him. He looked up from the plastic boat he had gripped in his chubby little hand and into the face of his mother, aglow with happiness and golden summer light. In that moment he recognized the primal connection between Mother and Child without fully understanding it; it was love and safety and security and the knowledge that everything was as it should be. This was similar yet completely different. The feeling was so big that Derek couldn't see all of it, fell all of it, understand all of it but he knew in his bones that it was right and in the most animal side of his wolf that it was good. It wasn’t the connection between Mother and Child, but between Something and _Something_. His wolf recognized a primal tether connecting him to Stiles and welcomed it.

Whatever Stiles was doing to him made it feel like every cell in his body was singing with light and life. Derek wondered absently if this was what heaven felt like.

Slowly, the feeling receded and Stiles pulled his hands off of Derek. He wasn’t self-aware enough to be embarrassed about the whine of complaint that slipped out of his mouth at the loss.

Not caring that his mouth was hanging open in shock and awe, Derek patted down his body.

He was healed.

Completely. 

Whatever the vampire had done had mended all of his injuries, even the ache in his hip he'd had since he lost a match to a bigger alpha when he was little older than a pup.

Stiles smiled at him wearily, his face drawn and features pinched with exhaustion. Even though the healing had clearly taken the wind out of Stiles' sails, his eye shone, richer than honey and more precious than gold and Derek felt his heart stop.

"Better?" Stiles asked.

All Derek could do was nod dumbly. He would have recovered in time, maybe another three days, give or take. Why had this vampire helped him, gone out of his way to relieve Derek of his pain? The strong protective tug in Derek's chest when he looked at Stiles should have surprised him, but it didn't. It only felt right, good.

Like Derek was supposed to look after this little slip of a vampire, alabaster skin and liquid gold eyes, like Derek was _made_ to guard him. The dramatic shift in his thinking should have been alarming but it wasn’t. Slipping into the position of Protector and Provider set his wolf at ease, like putting on an old, well-loved sweater.

Stiles started slumping from where he kneeled over Derek, legs slipping out from under him and stretching across the floor.

"Good," Stiles yawned, "'cuz I'm beat. It takes a lot out of you. Healing, you know?" His eyes began steadily drooping, his head dipping with fatigue. "It's-it's all energy. And energy has to come from somewhere. Neither created, nor destroyed, right? Or is that matter?" 

He slid down completely, resting his head against Derek's bare thigh. The bare cheek pressing against Derek’s thigh sent little shocks of heat up his leg.

"Anyway, I take it out of myself," Stiles continued, unconsciously rubbing his cheek against Derek's skin. "God, I'm tired. Just-just need a little sleep, that's all. Or sanguinate. Probably gonna need that when I wake up. Hungry." Derek watched as the vampire gave in to sleep, though he reminded Derek not to eat him, "You promised, sourwolf. Don't be bad."

The sun hadn't even set and Stiles was completely asleep, leaving Derek vaguely wondering why vampires were still considered nocturnal. He couldn't find it in himself to be annoyed when Stiles started to snore, _loudly_ , or even when he started drooling. All. Over. Derek. Instead of shoving the vampire off of him, Derek moved his neck into a more comfortable position and brushed a finger gently down the curve of his face.

Stiles dreamt on and Derek kept careful watch over his master.

 

***

 

_Lydia_

Lydia, unlike her younger brother, was extremely pleased with her 'wolf. Being one herself, she'd always been more inclined toward redheads, which her wolf was, and she found it a little amusing that her elder brother had picked a set of identical twins to share between each other.

Staring at Stuart across the dinner table, she raised her wine in a modest toast. "He's wonderful, Stuart, thank you," she said, running her fingers through said 'wolf's hair. She was surprised and a little bit amused to see a blush spread across his stonily still features at the indirect praise and physical contact. What a good little puppy.

"Only the best for the best, little sister," Stuart grinned at her, acknowledging her gratitude with a small nod of the head.

She raised an elegant eyebrow. "And what does it say about your ego that you bought the best for yourself as well?"

He responded with a wink before bringing his glass to his lips, letting out a small moan when the wine touched his tongue.  "Excellent vintage, don't you agree?"

"Delicious," she replied. She took a moment to savor the flavor before getting down to business. “How’s it going with Canada?”

Over the past several weeks there had been a spike in abolitionist and pro-werewolf rights activities along the northern border. Concordia had a treaty with Canada about the handling of escaped ‘wolf slaves going on its 70th year, one which the current head of state was ignoring.

“Oh, it’s going alright,” Stuart said, his shoulders slumping.

“So you heard back from Prime Minister Goncourt?” She asked.

"Yes," Stuart sighed, "and it isn't good."

"What did he say?" She asked.

"He very plainly said he will do nothing to deter his citizens from smuggling werewolves over the border and freeing them. He damn well sounded approving of their actions," he grumbled, drinking more wine.

"That's ridiculous. I knew the Canadians were largely abolitionists but if he's openly condoning their actions, he's pitting himself against the rest of North America. The Americans will back us on this," she said, “they have in the past.”

Stuart pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stave off the head ache he'd been feeling coming on since he'd read the Prime Minister's email that morning. "The situation's become a little more complex. The abolitionist movement's cropped up in England, Germany and Greece, hell, Sweden's practically given werewolves the right to vote." The lights were low and warm in the room, painting the patrons' faces in a rosy glow, but Lydia could still see the lines of exhaustion etched into Stuart's face. His skin seemed somehow loose and sallow, grey half-moons of flesh hanging under his eyes.

"Have you told Stiles yet? He's been relatively close with the Goncourt family for decades. He might be able to diffuse the situation," she suggested.

He just shook his head. "I don't want our little brother involved unless it's absolutely necessary. He might make tensions worse than they are."

She had to admit Stuart was right. Stiles was infamous for his brain-to-mouth filter, or more correctly his lack of one, and had started a handful of international scandals by saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. Plus, Stiles had never really been a firm supporter of slavery and they didn't need Canada thinking they had an ally on the inside when things were so uncertain.

"Then I'll call our ambassador in Dallas, see when we can get an audience with President Borcar. If the Prime Minister continues to refuse to take action against the abolitionists we may have to pass an embargo on Canada and their affiliates and see if the US will follow our lead," Lydia started laying out the plan in her head. She had taken to politics at a very young age and knew very intimately the inner workings of the world.

"Good, we need to nip this in the bud," he said.

Letting out a deep breath that wasn't quite a groan, he slid down in his seat a little, looking like he was about to fall asleep. "Now, let's not talk shop anymore. I just got back from my little wolfie shopping trip and I've had my fill of work for the day."

Lydia nodded but continued mapping out what she would need to do in the coming weeks. Things needed to be set in motion. Things needed to be handled with care from then on out. Canada being presumptuous enough to refuse to follow their joint agreement and infringe on Concordian jurisdiction was a show of power. Concordia needed to act decisively but not defensively. It would not do to make themselves look weak to the rest of the world who would no doubt being following the proceeds very closely.

They carried on with polite conversation, 'wolf guards kneeling at their sides in wait, until a young waiter came and took their empty wine glasses away, then presented them with their food. Dinner was served in the form of a young woman in a simple black shift. Bowing slightly to each of them, the woman stepped out of her clothes and laid herself down on the long and narrow table. Leaning forward, Stuart brought a slim wrist to his nose and inhaled, humming in pleasure at the smell of blood coursing through her veins.

"We thank you for the meal," he said simply before bringing the appendage to his mouth. To her credit, the girl barely flinched when his fangs broke the skin.

Drinking live blood had been outmoded for the past several decades with the creation of sanguinate, a synthetic blood substitute that most Concordians and vampires abroad feed on. While the actual necessity of feeding on a human or werewolf had become obsolete, it had come back into style for the elite to go to blood dens and drink from willing human donors. The humans were paid handsomely for their troubles and had the opportunity to make powerful connections should they catch the interest of a particular vampire, a useful tool in a nation dominated by vampires where humans were the minority.

Stuart pulled off after a few swallows, careful to leave enough for his sister while avoiding endangering the woman's life. Licking once apologetically at the puncture marks in the donor's pale skin, Stuart gestured for Lydia to take her turn.

Moving her carefully styled hair over one shoulder, Lydia brought herself face to face with the woman's neck, nosing softly at the flesh there. Placing a gentle kiss over the spot, she worked her fangs in as delicately as she could. The first luscious gush of the life giving liquid almost brought her to her knees. It was rich and indescribably delicious that sanguinate just wasn't. Even though it was the best thing she'd had in the past month she made sure to pace herself. She wanted to make it last. After all, she probably wouldn't be feeding live until the next senate session. Human blood held somewhat addictive qualities for some vampires and Lydia knew herself well enough not to tempt her greedy side. 

After she began to feel somewhat light headed and tingly, she pulled away from the woman's neck. Stuart waved his hand for a worker to come forward and a small mousy youth rushed over with a first aid kit. He placed an adhesive bandage on her neck wound and wrapped her wrist before helping into her shift and leading the way to the back as she woozily followed him.

"This was nice," Lydia said, dabbing at her lips with her napkin.

"Very," Stuart stretched in his chair, eyes tracking their donor across the room. "I swear I've tasted her before."

"You probably have. You are a bit of a, in Stiles' words, 'bloodwhore'," she smirked at him.

"You wound me, you and brother both," Stuart said, still focused on the girl.

Lydia resisted rolling her eyes before shooing her brother away. "If you're so taken with her, go ask the manager for her number. I'm sure she wouldn't turn down a vampire, let alone a senator."

"I think I'll do that. See you back at the house?" he asked, already standing and motioning for his slave to do the same.

"Don't count on it. Whittemore asked me to come over to look over some trading agreements with France."

"Whittemore? Which one?" Stuart asked.

Lydia stood as well, her slave hovering behind her. "Jackson. Liam's visiting his mother in Philadelphia."

Stuart shook his head in amusement. "You've been stringing the First and Third Whittemore Progenitors along for years."

She shrugged. "And I'll keep doing it till it gets boring. Ta," she threw over her shoulder as she flounced about of the blood den.

 

 


	3. Call of the Banshee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, here's the third chapter.  
> Warning, there's a flashback to a scene involving noncon towards then end of this chapter.  
> MTV owns all characters and canon backstories.

_Stiles_

Things were better between Stiles and his 'wolf than when they had met after the healing, but it was still weird. The 'wolf, who had introduced himself at first as Servus Hale then Derek when Stiles pushed for his first name, was largely silent. Most of the time, he just followed Stiles around like, well, a puppy.

And stared at him.

A lot.

Stiles had to get over the staring. The silence was something he could handle, he had enough words to make up for Derek's brevity, but he really didn't know how to feel about the staring.

Just for example, Stiles would sit down in the mornings for a hot cup of sanguinate and he'd catch Derek watching him from where he was on the ground next to Stiles. He didn't get embarrassed or look away when Stiles caught him like a _normal wolfman/manwolf should_ , he just keep on staring with this look that Stiles couldn't interpret.

After the first week Stiles just figured it was Derek's thing or some weird slave body guard training so he tried to push it out of his mind. It was still super weird, though.

To be fair, sometimes Stiles got distracted staring at Derek's muscles jump and clench with his slightest movement in the skin tight shirts Lydia had dragged him out to buy. He had guiltily contemplated just having Derek go shirtless like some vampires did with their werewolves in those first days because, come on, the man, 'wolf, _manwolf,_ whatever, was a thing of beauty. Fortunately, and unfortunately, Lydia had forced him to spend a small fortune on a wardrobe for his new slave.

"Honestly, Stiles, a 'wolf is an extension of their master. You both need to dress to impress." Lydia had said, looking pointedly at her own 'wolf. The 'wolf's coppery locks had been trimmed and styled into a neat and manageable shape, and he wore a well-tailored charcoal suit. He really did look good, plus he complemented the goddess that was Stiles' sister so he gave up and let her do what she wanted. It was usually safer for everyone involved to let her do as she pleased. Fewer people walked away missing limbs.

Even though he grumbled and whined about being taken to overly froufrou stores he had to admit that Lydia bought Derek some great stuff: fitted dress shirts in various colors and patterns, slacks, six tailored suits, some plain (yet still strangely expensive) t-shirts, dark blue jeans and, totally of character for Lydia, a black leather jacket.

Much to Lydia's continued chagrin, Derek usually preferred the leather jacket, shirts and jeans over the suits. Stiles wasn't going to force him to wear one of those things, he avoided them like the plague unless he was harassed into going to a party or when he went to one of the senate sessions.

Unfortunately for him, he'd been roped into going to a party with Lydia and Stuart at the _Chalceus Palatium_. Almost all the other progenitors would be going, so Lydia made sure he knew his 'attendance' was mandatory. He couldn't think of a less exciting prospect than spending the evening at Jackson's house. The same Jackson who had been an utter ass to him since they were both toddlers and had been chasing after Lydia for nearly as long.

If that wasn't reason enough to hate him, he also thought Korn was a good band. _Korn._

Currently Stiles was going through his closet, trying to find something to wear that wouldn't horribly embarrass him, or Lydia, in front of the other nobles. He cycled through about ten outfits before finally settling a plain black ensemble and red tie. Classic, clean cut, (relatively) comfy. He was just starting to change into it when his phone beeped with a message.

_From Lydia, To Stiles:_

_Did I mention it's a costume ball?_

 

_From Stiles, To Lydia:_

_ARE YOU KIDDING ME._

 

_From Lydia, To Stiles:_

_I apologize, the theme must have slipped my mind earlier._

 

_From Stiles, To Lydia:_

_Im so mad at you rn._

_I don't have any costume stuff and the party's in like 30 min._

 

_From Lydia, To Stiles:_

_Drugstores have paper masks and cheap half off Halloween make up._

_Make do._

_Do not be late. _

"Ugh," Stiles said, throwing his phone aside and collapsing onto his bed. Costume parties were seriously the only social gatherings he'd ever be excited to go to and now he was completely unprepared. If he'd had even the littlest bit of advanced notice he could have put together a pretty sweet costume that would have put even the most hardcore cosplayer to shame. Pulling himself back up he started rooting around in his closet to see if he had anything useful hidden away.

While he was looking, he mentally cursed himself for letting Lydia convince him to stay in Sedis an extra few weeks after the senate session ended instead of going back to Toronto like he wanted. He didn’t have to put up with people if he didn’t want to in his own territory.

After a fifteen minute search, he came up for air with a brown cat ear headband, a mostly dried out Halloween make-up palette and two fuzzy clawed gloves (what even?). Trying to work it all into a cohesive outfit, Stiles looked back and forth between the scavenged pile of goods and Derek, an idea slowly forming in his mind.

"Hey, so, Derek?" He asked.

The 'wolf raised an eyebrow in question. Expressions seemed to be his preferred form of communication.

"Can you control your shift?" 

The other eyebrow rose up to keep it's twin company.

"No, I mean, okay just hear me out," Stiles said, beginning to explain his plan to the incredulous werewolf.

By the time they were ready to go, Derek look unimpressed with the world and Stiles was really itchy. Stiles had convinced Derek to do a partial shift, which, first of all, super cool and who knew that happened, so that he looked human but his wolf fangs were grown out. He'd made Derek wear one of his darker suits, then slathered his face and hands in white face paint to cover his tanned skin, tying the costume together by adding dollops of red face paint to the corners of his mouth. Derek weathered the assault with a weary look of mild contempt. Stiles painted over his own eyebrows with the white paint while extending his sideburns with the brown paint. He slipped on the clawed fur gloves and the brown eared head band. It wasn't his best work but overall Derek looked like the stereotypical vampire and Stiles looked like a werewolf in beta shift.

Even if it completely sucked, he at least got a laugh out of Victor when the human met them in the front by the car.

When he got to the party, his siblings congratulated him on his originality before pointing, both smirking, towards Progenitor Kira and her own 'wolf Servus McCall who had gone with the same idea.

Stiles spent a good portion of the party getting drunk off his ass in a corner, muttering to himself about 'it was my idea, mine'. Derek just stared at him and Stiles tried to pretend he wasn't being judged.

A few hours in, Lydia swooped in and dragged him into the crowd to mingle. Apparently, just because he was a Prince of the Ferrum bloodline meant that he had to actually get to know the other members of high society. He was introduced to a plethora of business magnates and other disgustingly wealthy vampires, even a few powerful humans, all of whom were a blur in his alcohol addled brain. The fact that they were all dressed up in extremely elaborate costumes didn't help.

The only person that stuck out from the rest was an attractive woman of indeterminate age. It was hard to guess with vampires and seen as impolite to ask, but she was young enough to be between her first and second centuries, give or take a couple decades. Unlike the other party goers, she wore a simple yet elegant black dress with matching heels and a half mask covering the upper part of her face with gold painted papier-mâché and green feathers. When introduced to her, she gave a small curtsey and shook his hand. Her sinuous movements made Stiles vaguely recall a nature show on pythons he'd watched a few years ago.

“Progenitor Stiles, a pleasure to meet you,” she said with a polite smile.

“Stiles, I’d like you to meet Miss Jennifer Blake, CEO of CryoTech Innovations. Her company just funded the construction Mother Lilith Children’s Hospital,” Lydia said smoothly, taking a sip of her ridiculously fancy drink.

“Nice to meet you,” Stiles said, trying not to show how completely wasted he was. The rest of the introductions were lost on him. Between maintaining a vertical position and concentrating on ignoring the hot line of Derek at his back, Stiles’ brain had its hands full. Still, when Lydia prompted him along to a new group of party goers to talk to, Stiles found himself looking over his shoulder to catch a final glimpse of the woman. There was a strange quality about her that drew his attention. She met his eye and winked before disappearing the mob of bodies.

 

***

 

_Derek_

It had been a trying night.

In the short amount of time that Derek had spent with his master, he realized the vampire was a bit of a home body. Unlike his older brother and sister who flitted about the city from one social engagement to the next, Stiles seemed to prefer screwing around on his laptop in his room with the curtains drawn tight. That worked for Derek. Confinement was what he was used to.

The few times previously that Stiles’ sister had forced him to actually go out and have a life had been small ventures like going shopping in exclusive stores with her, or going out to lunch with her and Stuart.

That party had been completely different.

It was the first time Derek had been around so many other people before, a tumultuous mix of vampires and humans, each of which seemed to have a least one ‘wolf slave trailing behind them. His wolf was on high alert the entire time, senses pricked for danger, completely focused on his master and the people he interacted with. It infuriated him that Stiles had allowed himself get inebriated to the point of vulnerability. Was that how his master had been before Derek came into the picture? How was he still alive? He let himself be completely open to attack from all sides.

His wolf especially didn’t like all the strangers that kept coming up and touching _his_ Stiles. Derek ended up trailing directly behind him, practically flush with Stiles’ back, forcing himself not to glare the people down who came up to talk to Stiles.

Both he and his wolf felt much better now that they were back in their own territory. It took very little time for his wolf to recognize Stiles’ room, specifically his bed, as its territory. He even went so far as to rub his scent on the sheets when the vampire wasn’t looking, feeling smug when his master woke up in the mornings smelling like him.

Stiles tore off the gloves and head band and made as if to throw himself on the bed but Derek grabbed him before he could ruin his pillow with the make up on his face. His master whined and made a pitiful attempt at fighting back when he dragged Stiles to the connected bathroom and started whipping his face clean with a damp rag. Derek held in a grunt of amusement when the vampire fell asleep standing up.

Once most of the offending product had been removed, Derek carried Stiles back to the bed and tucked him under the heavy blankets before going back to the bathroom to clean himself off. When he came back into the room, Stiles was snoring lightly, limbs starfished across the mattress.

He stripped out of the suit until he was left wearing only his underwear and curled up on his pallet next to Stiles’ bed. Stiles had thrown away his crate the day after Derek came to the _Ferrum Palatium_ and insisted on getting him something comfortable to rest on. With the sounds of the city intertwining with the soft breathing of his master, Derek fell into unconsciousness and dreamed of gold-on-amber eyes in an alabaster face and sweet, pink lips curving into a smile over pointed teeth.

 

***

 

_Lydia_

Much as Lydia was given to being a social butterfly, she enjoyed the quiet seclusion of her chambers in the _Ferrum Palatium_. Her rooms had previously been her grandmother's, Livinia Stilinski, a brilliant vampire in her time who helped the colonists wrest the American continent out of British control. Something about the space called to her, some strange alchemy of blood connection and history infused in the walls as well as the knowledge that the place was solely hers in an otherwise bustling household. Even her home in Detroit, her political seat of power, gave her half as much comfort as her childhood room. Her windows looked out over the back gardens of the estate, elegant rows of skyscrapers like diamond fingers reaching up behind the old stone walls protecting the lush flowers and ancient trees. On her 16th birthday, Stiles bought her an old threadbare armchair as joke from some ratty thrift store. Instead of throwing it out like Stiles expected, she'd kept it, after a serious cleaning, and positioned it so she could look out over the gardens and to Sedis beyond. It was her peaceful haven away from it all. Most importantly, though, it was where she did her best strategizing.

The Concordian ambassador to America had called her that morning. The President had declined meeting to discuss the issue. The United States was taking a neutral stance towards Canada's aggression for the time being which was the exact opposite of what Lydia needed. The U.S. had been their strongest ally, as well as their best costumer, when it came to werewolf slaves. The fact that they were declining to take any sort of action hinted to the fact that they knew something that Concordia didn't, that or, unbeknownst to Concordia, the abolitionist movement had spread to the U.S. as well.

Lydia rolled her shoulders back, loosening the tight muscles there and leaned back into the armchair. The sun was high, shafts of light bathing the gardens in a golden sheen. She reached down and ran her fingers through the coppery hair of her 'wolf, kneeling at her side. To her pleasure, and amusement, he leaned into her touch, letting out a sub vocal hum. They had not spoken much since his ownership was transferred to her, but he seemed rather taken with her if the way his heart beat faster when he looked at her or the way he flushed when she smiled at him. At least she knew he was on her side.

Their options were drastically limited without the backing of the Americans. They were surrounded by two much larger nations, one not even trying to pretend it wasn't pro-werewolf, and the other dangerously undecided. That coupled with the unrest in Europe with Sweden, Germany, Greece and England with populations majorly anti-werewolf slavery did not bode well. Lydia and the rest of the senate would have to act, and soon, if they wished to contain the situation. The very existence of Concordia depended on it.

After the vampires had been ousted from Europe by the humans, it had taken decades, centuries to even contemplate an uneasy truce. Viewing werewolves as an inferior species had united the two in a very big way and without that unity humans could possibly turn against vampires once again. The world was not like it had once been in the glory days of the vampire controlled Roman Empire; the present day ushered in new weapons, new technology, which could potentially obliterate the vampire race and leave Concordian territory so radioactive a cockroach would have a hard time surviving there. Vampires themselves were a minority in the world, they weren't very many in number. Besides Concordia, not including Taiwan controlled by the Yuang Coven, there were only a handful of small communities scattered in Africa and South America. Unlike what was portrayed in human books and movies, vampirism was not infectious; it was purely hereditary, and even then, vampires could only reproduce with other vampires. Genetically compatible vampire-human couples were so rare as to be basically nonexistent. The way things were currently progressing, war wasn't possible, it was probable. And with war, their race would flicker and fade away. Even with the werewolves, they were too few.

With a sigh, Lydia pulled out her phone and called her elder brother.

" _Sister_ ," Stuart answered.

"Brother," she said.

" _What's the news from our friend in Dallas?_ " he asked.

Lydia let out a huff of indignation. "President Borcar won’t do a thing. The Americans aren't touching the situation, at least not in the immediate future."

" _Shit. Something's not_ right." He paused before letting out a weary breath. _"I'm calling an emergency senate session. The others need to be brought up to speed._ "

"You do realize this means involving Stiles," Lydia asked, smoothing an unruly piece hair down on the back of her 'wolf's head.

" _Yes, Lydia, I do, but the situation's changed since we last spoke. Things are more serious than I thought._ " Lydia couldn't help but smile a little at the annoyance in her elder brother's voice. " _His in with the Prime Minister might alleviate some of the tension._ "

"Exactly what I told you, Stuart," she said, trying not to feel too pleased with herself.

" _Ugh, fine, you're always right, I said it, are you happy now?"_ Stuart griped.

"Very," Lydia sniffed primly. "When will the senate convene?"

" _6:30 tonight._ "

"Till then."

Lydia hung up the phone and took one more look out the window, savoring the almost overdone beauty of the flower beds and intricately trimmed hedges, and enjoying the heat of the 'wolf's skin against her palm before standing.

"Come, Aiden," she said, not looking as he obeyed her command, letting her hand slip to his shoulder. "There is much to do."

 

Several hours later found Lydia in the back of a sleek black car on her way to the _Curia_ , boxed in by traffic on all sides. Victor was silent, as was her 'wolf as he unnecessarily scanned the congested road for lurking threats. It was endearing how seriously he took his job. She'd noticed it as well with several other Progenitors and their guard slaves, of all of them though Progenitor Kira's 'wolf was the most intent. At the costume party, he'd followed his master inappropriately close, watched at her with unabashed adoration and carried out her orders with the eagerness of a puppy.  

She’d noticed how possessive Stiles’ ‘wolf was of him too, and after such a short period of time. All throughout the night the werewolf had looked like he wanted to eat anyone who came close to his master. Lydia had maybe had a little too much fun encouraging him by introducing completely irrelevant people to Stiles to see how the ‘wolf would react.

Her eyes rested on the back of her 'wolf's coppery haired head. Stuart had certainly chosen well when he'd bought Aiden and his twin.

Her phone buzzed and she drew it out to check who it was. She tossed it across the seat when she saw it was a text from Jackson.

_I can’t deal with him right now_ , she thought to herself, instead focusing on the night slowly creeping over Sedis between the stationary cars.

Jackson had been chasing after her for decades now and while the romantic attention of him and his cousin Liam slash fellow progenitor was usually entertaining, it had begun to lose its charm. She had never taken it particularly seriously in both cases, one, because Jackson was rude to Stiles and she couldn’t abide by that, and two, because Liam was too intellectually inferior for her to consider him as a lifelong partner.

When she had gone to the _Chalceus Palatium_ after feeding on the human girl with her brother things had started out okay. Jackson really did need help with the trade agreement between France and his territory in the Principality of Chalceus, he was hopeless with such things, so they worked on the document until he was satisfied. When they were finishing up writing the final clause, Jackson started hinting that he wanted the evening to take a more intimate turn. Lydia, not in the least in the mood, had indulged in some light kissing before trying to extricate herself from the situation.

Of course, that’s when everything turned to shit.

When Lydia made to pull away from him, Jackson tightened his grip on her and dragged her back in, letting his free hand roam up and under her blouse. Huffing in annoyance, she pushed against him at first trying to tell him how very little interest she had in continuing but he ignored her and pushed on.

“Jackson-“she wiggled in an attempt at dislodging the hand that was dangerously close to cupping her breast. They had slept together before, many times, as had she and Liam. Jackson was always a little forceful in bed and sometimes she liked it, she had a hidden submissive side and enjoyed giving up control to a couple select lovers, but at that moment she was bone dry. “Jackson, seriously, not tonight.”

“Come on, it’s been forever,” Jackson said against the side of her throat before licking a stripe up to her jaw. It was probably intended to turn her on but it only served to make her want to take a bath.

“True as that may be for us, I know you have your own little distractions, it’s not as if your dick’s been withering away in a proverbial dry spell,” Lydia said dryly. Neither of them made any secret of the other people they slept with and saw romantically. Jackson knew about Liam, as well as the three other men Lydia cycled through back in her own territory and she knew about Jackson’s constant revolving door of strumpets.

Through the whole experience Lydia felt cool and collected if a little uncomfortable up to that point. She only started feeling uneasy when Jackson unzipped her skirt and slid the garment down her thighs.

“I said not tonight Jackson. Stop,” she gritted through her teeth, reaching down with the hand he didn’t have a hold of to try to work her skirt back up her legs.

He let out a low growl in the back of his throat as he forced her to let go of the fabric. “Why do you always deny me?” Looking up at him in the dimly lit room, Lydia could barely recognize the man on top of her.

“Let go of me right now or I swear to Lilith I’ll rip off your cock and serve it to you medium rare,” she snarled back at him, the red swirls of her hair covering her face.

He just gave her a cocky grin and pulled his cock out of his undone zipper. “Baby, you don’t have to rip it off. If you really want it, all you gotta do is ask.” She squeezed her legs closed tightly but he wrenched them apart and kept them open with his hips. A shriek of fear and angry escaped her throat as he pushed her panties to the side to line up with her opening.

One instant, Jackson was about to thrust himself up into Lydia’s body, the next, he was lying face first in a smashed coffee table.

It took a second for her to get her bearings but once her mind cleared, she realized Jackson's weight was no longer holding her down, keeping her splayed. She looked and saw her ‘wolf crouched over her but snarling at Jackson still body. Jackson’s ‘wolf, a well-muscled and coffee-and-cream skinned man, bared his fangs at Aiden, letting his body slip into its beta shift, all glowing red alpha eyes, fur and claws. Aiden responded in turn by shifting as well.

They continued glaring be and snarling at one another, neither initiating a fight. Rather, they seemed to both simply be guarding. 

When neither ‘wolf made a move toward one another, Lydia slowly started moving her clothes back into place and made her way to the front. Aiden walked backwards, following her to the door yet refusing to turn his back to the other ‘wolf. They were just leaving the house when she heard Jackson groan, signaling his return to consciousness. Aiden hurried her to the car waiting to take her back to the _Ferrum Palatium_. On the drive back Lydia pretended that she was fine and Aiden pretended that he wasn’t watching her nervously.

The car jolted and Lydia was shaken from her memories. Traffic had cleared up while she was ruminating.

“Not long now, Progenitor Lydia, ma’am, should be there in 10 minutes or so,” the driver said.

“Thank you, Victor,” Lydia said absently, rubbing away the frown forming on her brow with the heel of her hand.

After finally finagling their way through the congested Sedis streets to the Curia, Lydia was dreading the work that lay ahead. Once the other Progenitors from the other families were brought up to speed on the issue, the entire senate would have to vote on the best course of action. At least the Argents, to Lydia’s knowledge, knew some of what was going on. Their lands, the Principality of Argentum, like the Principality of Ferrum, shared a border with Canada. The Argents were known for their prestigious breeding and training centers and Lydia had read several reports of merchandise disappearances and training center break-ins on their properties.

All in all, it was going to be a long night. On top of the work load, Lydia was bound to run into Jackson and she wasn’t sure she could hold herself back from castrating him on the spot if he so much as breathed in her direction. Harshly clamping down on her anger and that treacherous echo of terror, Lydia forced the feelings down. She didn’t need her emotions getting in the way of her job.

Victor dropped her and Aiden off at the white stone steps of the front of the Curia and pulled around back to wait until he was needed again.

The Curia was a large, squat chunk of marble in the relative center of the city, done like so many other buildings in Sedis in the style of the Romans. The steps led up past the solid external columns to the more ornately chiseled interior columns supporting the enormous halls and galleries within, each filled with relics of the past. Her path to the senate chambers was watched over by larger than life statues of dead senators, Lilith and, at the end of the hall before the entrance to the senate chamber, an enormous piece depicting the Primogenitor with the original Progenitors of the four bloodlines cradled in her arms. The main chamber to the back of the where the senate convened was already full of the other Progenitors, as well as a flurry of archivists, advisors and secretaries.

The room buzzed with whispers. Most of the other vampires had no clue as to why First Progenitor Stuart of House Stilinski had called and emergency senate meeting, though Lydia’s previous suspicions about the Argents seemed to be true by the lack of confusion on their faces. They must have already known exactly what was going on. At least there were others who could help explain exactly what was going on.

Lydia, Aiden trailing in her wake, made her way to her high seat in the circular room, winged by both of her brothers. She looked to Stiles. Her baby brother was slumped forward in his throne, tired and uncertain with his ‘wolf guard kneeling loyally beside him, face as solid as stone. Stuart, on the other hand, sat ram rod straight in his seat, face pulled tight and grim. Turning to look at the others in the room as she sat down, her stomach gave a sick lurch as her eyes met Jackson’s. She looked away and folded her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking. If, when Aiden took his place on the ground next to her, her ‘wolf leaned ever so slightly into her side, it was their secret. No one needed to know how much comfort she took in the simple gesture.

She knew that she should be paying attention to what Stuart was saying even if she did already know all the information that he was relaying, but there was a fog settling on her mind that she just couldn’t shake.

The first few minutes of the meeting, she tried to ignore it and focus on the sound of Stuart’s voice. All that did was make it seem stronger as if it were growing in intensity. It wormed its way into her head and filtered out the sounds in the room until all she could hear was the faint hum of other voices as if heard from far away till even that faded away. She tried moving a hand, her head, anything, to get the others’ attention, to let Stuart or Aiden or Stiles know that something was wrong but her body betrayed her and stilled of its own accord.

Whatever spectral mist was gripping her seemed to be coming out of the floor below her feet as well as from above. It took hold of her and finally Lydia couldn’t fight back any longer.

Lydia felt trapped. The fog had moved throughout the rest of her body, binding her arms and legs, wrapping her in a net as light as gossamer and as strong as steel. All that she saw was grey and all was silent.

Something about the mist felt familiar but at the same time wrong. She was alone, floating in nothingness and waiting, for what she didn’t know. Ever since she was little, Lydia had hated open water. The fact that there she couldn’t see the bottom of a deep pond or the ocean had always disconcerted her. Her mind came up with many eyed and many tentacled monsters waiting to snatch her up and drag her down into the watery depths. She was having the same feeling, like there was something just below the surface of the fog waiting to coil itself around her and drag her into the abyss, yet she felt an odd tranquility as if the panic was meant to feel was separate from her.

A part of her warned her against giving in to it, yelled at her that something was coming, louder and louder until Lydia realized it wasn’t her that was making the noise, it was someone or something else, getting closer and closer, an agonized cry being wailed from a bloody throat, death it was death Lydia could feel it through the fog, reaching out a thin, cold hand towards her yet not reaching for her, reaching for someone near her, it was coming it was coming it was coming it _is_ coming it’s coming it’s coming “-it’s coming it’s coming it’s coming it’s coming it’s coming,” the words weren’t her own, but they were spilling out of her mouth, building up and tumbling out, refusing to be kept behind her lips, spewing out faster as that sickly pale form got closer and as the screaming grew nearer she screamed too.

She shot up from her seat as if currents of electricity were running through her body and let out a shriek, filled with pain and sadness and fear before crumpling to the floor. The sound echoed around the vast dome of the room and she was shocked by how utterly inhumane it sounded.

In those last moments before the darkness took her, she realized what had happened to her. The fog had been familiar but unrecognizable because it had only come for her once before when she was still only a little girl. It was the manifestation of her bloodline’s legacy and the reason for her seat in the senate, the power to forewarn and foresee death in all its forms.

In less than 24 hours, someone in the senate chamber was going to die.


	4. Chapter 4

Hey, for all of you guys who have stuck with this story I just want to promise that I actually am working on the next chapter. I am a terrible terrible writer who forgets about my projects for months before picking them back up again. Sorry guys, it'll be out soon.


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